


Unexpected Presents

by Illegible_Scribble



Series: 31 Days of Frodo/Sam, 2018 [18]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo's Birthday Party, Everyone can tell they're in love, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Merry & Pippin play matchmaker, Mutual Pining, Pre-Quest, Smoochtober 2018, except them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 04:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16339604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: At Bilbo's 111th birthday party, Sam woefully convinces himself Frodo would never have eyes for him, making him oblivious to Frodo's desperate attempts to get Sam's romantic attention. Merry and Pippin have witnessed this going on between them for years, and finally decide to do something about it.





	Unexpected Presents

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by [this prompt](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/132744) for Smoochtober 2018, #18: Kissing Because of a Dare. There's not really any peer-pressure, explicit sort of dare involved with the kiss, but it is prompted by external suggestion.

It hadn't been Sam's intent to stare so plainly, but no matter his attempts to distract himself, he found his eyes always returning to Frodo, as he leaped and twirled across the Party Field in time to the music.

Sam knew he wasn't the only one to be stuck in hopeless admiration for him; a veritable pool of lasses (married and unmarried alike!) followed him in waves, like a tide, and Sam even caught a few other lads admiring Frodo behind his back.

For them all, Sam knew it was – both at once – perfectly rational, and also utterly silly. Frodo had just come of age today, thus putting him 'on the market', as it were, for any eligible lass (or lad) not otherwise entangled (or even wedded folk that might be eager all the same for something new). Besides that, he was Heir to the Hill – along with all of Mister Bilbo's rumored treasure trove from the Lonely Mountain – and he was, plainly, dazzling. Respectful and generous to all, with eyes like perfect azure jewels, raven-black hair, and snow-fair skin.

Sam guessed at least half the Field (including himself) were hopelessly infatuated with him. Of course, only a quarter of them or less, he supposed, had any real chance – most of Hobbiton's residents (while some notable names like Bolger and Boffin resided there) were far less appealing alternatives to the more important names like Took, Brandybuck, Grubb or Chubb. It was true most of them were related to Frodo within living memory, but preexisting familial relations in a number of cases did not deter hobbit courtship in the least.

Sam continued drowning his woes in ale, knowing full well a Gamgee's station was never to rise so high as the Hill. He knew Frodo liked his company for their shared joy of books and tales of the Wild, but otherwise Sam believed Frodo likely thought him a ninnyhammer. Endearing, perhaps, but all together not too bright.

He kept trying to distract himself by watching Rosie Cotton or her brothers caper across the grass, but to his woe, Frodo seemed ever to dance into his line of sight.

 

–

 

_Blast it, Sam!_ Frodo thought in exasperation, smiling prettily to what must have been his twentieth partner for the day, as a new song began, _Haven't you got eyes?! I'm right in bloody front of you!_ Struggling to make himself more obnoxiously obvious, Frodo gave a fierce wiggle of his hips – putting to shame a good half dozen lasses among the dancers, who had bums far more ample than Frodo's, but much less mobile.

_Sticklebacks! He must be blind_! For the dancing and keeping his partner well entertained (he couldn't even remember her name, though he was fairly certain she was a Bracegirdle), he kept smiling and even laughing breathlessly through the dance, but his frustration was mounting.

At that moment, the only animal he could be accurately likened to, was a bird (a peacock, specifically, but hobbits weren't yet well acquainted with them); desperately carrying out a complex dance in the hopes of attracting a potential mate.

Unfortunately for Frodo, his potential mate was getting himself progressively drunker, almost crying into his ale, oblivious to the fact Frodo was trying to attract _him_.

_A good twenty dances, at least!_ Thought Frodo, fuming privately to himself, but bidding his partner a pleasant courtesy as the song ended. _And not once has he asked me!_ It did cross Frodo's mind that _he_ could ask _Sam_ directly, but then that would make the whole process much too easy. He knew full well he'd sit on Sam if Sam asked him to, but he wanted Sam himself to make the first sign that _he_ was interested.

From all Frodo could gather, with all the times he'd caught Sam staring dreamily at him, or blushing when Frodo treated him as a friend more than an employee, and all the extra details Sam went to, to make sure Bag End was well-kept for Frodo, Frodo was _certain_ (nearly) that Sam was infatuated with him. The (nearly) was the kicker – big enough to make Frodo all together unsure a direct offer to Sam would go over at all well.

Frodo could admit easily (to himself alone and not another living soul) he wanted to smother Sam with kisses at any given moment, and read him poetry in their shared bed every night. He thought to himself, that if it were so easy for him to admit that (discounting he only professed it to himself), surely it couldn't be that difficult for Sam to admit similar feelings to him (if he had them)?

Frodo settled on a bench not fair from Sam to take a breather, glowering with adoring annoyance at his gardener. He supposed he could be wrong, and Sam didn't really fancy him much, but Frodo wished they could initiate that conversation in the first place, and get it over with (and starting it here and now would be much too simple). It was frustrating – he'd been hoping passionately for the past several months, to give Sam a kiss on his birthday.

He was starting to get worried, now, that it wasn't going to happen.

 

–

 

Merry and Pippin had been watching the whole affair with sympathetic amusement, even taking breaks for popcorn and beer. The former had been the nearest to witness everything, being among the crowd of dancers, and going for nearly as long as Frodo had, while Pippin had intermittently been part of the band. Every so often they'd both take a seat together, sitting back to watch Frodo's continuing attempts to get Sam to notice his bum, while Sam was doing his best _not_ to notice Frodo's bum (though his eyes kept wandering back to it anyway).

“They're a treat to watch,” Pippin commented around a mouthful of popcorn, “but exhausting and a bit depressing at the same time.”

“If we don't get to Sam soon,” Merry noted, “he's going to be too drunk to do anything but cry if we try to talk to him.”

The both of them had been watching Frodo and Sam mooning over each other for years. They were very shy and reserved around one another, but when alone with anyone else, would begin praising the other to the sky and back. It was mostly one another's minds and skill with words they'd admire, but after a few beers it wasn't hard to get Frodo talking about Sam's shoulders, or Sam to get lost swimming in the thought of Frodo's lake-blue eyes. It was completely obvious they'd shag in a heartbeat, if only they'd actually _talk_ to each other.

It was amusing entertainment, but after a while it started to feel like hazlenut spread tastes, after long enough; it's sweet and wonderful at first, but gets sickeningly gloppy and nearly nauseating if you try eating a whole jar of it in one sitting. In the past, Pippin of course had, and regretted it for the next several days afterwards.

“Think we ought to do something?” Pippin asked, putting a conspiratory elbow on Merry's shoulder. “Starting to feel a bit sick just watching them. Frodo must have stitches all up and down his sides by now.” (He did.)

“And I'm not sure Sam's had enough to eat, compared to all his ale. _He_ might get sick, afore the night's over.” Merry thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

“Thinking on it, if _we_ made it all work out, they'd owe us, wouldn't they?”

“Pip, I think _all of Hobbiton_ would, if we got them to get on with their mooning, once and for all.” Wicked smiles slowly crept over Merry and Pippin's faces. “You take Sam, I'll tackle Frodo?”

“Long as you're gentle,” Pippin agreed, the two of them shaking on their arrangement, “leave some for Sam, remember?”

 

–

 

So it was Sam found himself still in his seat, up to his nose in beer froth, as Frodo's younger cousin Pippin sat down beside him. “How goes it, Sam? Terribly fine party, isn't it?”

Sam hastily swallowed the ale he'd been drinking, and set down his mug as he hastened for a napkin (which Pippin handed him). “Oh, aye! It's all been a dream, right enough, Sir! The food, the music and the company've all been right grand!”

Pippin nodded, first bright with agreement, before his face fell into a thoughtful contemplation. “Oh, I agree completely, Sam. But, if you don't mind my saying, it doesn't look as though _you're_ enjoying it as much as say, the band and dancers.” Pippin gestured to the dancing field.

Sam looked guiltily down at his mug. “Ah- well, I've two left feet, you see, and much as I'd fancy a dance, afeared I don't want to go stepping on nobody's toes – most literally, if you understand me.”

Pippin nodded, settling his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he thought. “Well, you know, I think Frodo's quite open to dancing lessons – gentle, like. Why, earlier this evening, he mentioned to me and Merry he'd be happy to give a quick lesson to any hobbit that asked him. You know, a bit away from the crowd, down the hill a bit for space and uh, privacy.”

Sam was for a moment terrified he'd swallowed his tongue, and so was relieved to find it still where it ought to be when he spoke. “O-oh, th-that's awful nice of him. But I'm still afeared there ain't no hope for the likes of me.” He crossed his ankles and wiggled his toes, further insisting both his feet were technically lefts. “Still a bit clumsy-footed naturally, you see. And as it's his birthday and all, I awful wouldn't want to go stepping on _his_ toes.”

Pippin grumbled into the palm of his hand. Sam was a tougher nut to crack than he thought he'd be. Why were lovesick hobbits always such ninnys? Did love make them thick, or was it just more prone to affecting those already established as ninnys, and exacerbated their problems?

Whatever the case, Pippin decided there and then (for about as long as the night lasted), love was a silly thing and he was going to avoid it at all costs. Well, avoid love of a romantic partner, anyway – loving meat pies or pipeweed would never make him as thick as this.

“You know, Sam, I wasn't supposed to say this, but... Ah, bother,” Pippin feigned stress about continuing, leaning back and rubbing the back of his neck – Sam took it hook, line and sinker, abandoning his chronic two-left-footedness, and leaning forward with curiosity healthy to any living individual – and an annoyance to the privacy of most others besides themselves. “Well, Frodo told me he's got a special gift he wants to give you – probably the dancing lessons, I think – for his birthday.

“Leastways, he said it couldn't be put in a box, and he'd like to give it to you alone, but before the night's over. Though- he did admit to being terribly shy, and that he might chicken out of it. I'd imagine if you went over and asked him about it right up, that'd set him straight.”

Sam was now blushing rather furiously. For several reasons – such as Pippin (no matter being Frodo's cousin) saying something that like as not he shouldn't have, the idea that Frodo had a special gift for _him_ , on such a special day, and that he might be _too shy_ to give it. “Y-you're sure about that, Sir?” he asked.

Pippin put a hand to his breast and leaned back in shock. “You think I'd spread dishonesty so casually, Sam?” Pippin was very lucky Sam lived nowhere near Tuckburough, and had never heard what his sisters would answer to that question. “I only want to help out my favorite cousin. He does like you, you know – perhaps it's a song, or a poem he's made himself, and would like to let you hear it, first.”

Sam blushed, and covered his cheeks with his hands, thinking. “Th-that's an awful mighty proposition. Oh, I do wish he'd just gone and told me hisself! Don't know if I could stand to just- go up and ask him about a present! Those're supposed to be surprises...”

Indubitably, love absolutely made people ninnys. “It's just a question,” Pippin prodded, “every hobbit asks dozens a day! This one's hardly any different.” he clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Trust me, it will be an immense relief to Frodo; he stops worrying about your gift, you stop worrying about it, everyone's happy.”

Sam made a distressed noise in his throat, but with effort he managed to stand. “I'll go ask him about it. Thank'ee, Mister Pippin- I think.”

“Just- don't go mentioning I said anything, hm?” Pippin tapped the side of his nose and winked.

 

–

 

Merry had woven a similar tale to Frodo. “You're saying Sam's got something for _me_ – on _my_ birthday – that he doesn't want to give in front of anyone else?” Frodo looked at his younger cousin skeptically. He'd suspected for a long while now that Merry – while clever and always well-meaning – was mostly full of rubbish.

Merry nodded, fighting a desperate battle inside himself to not burst out laughing. “You know Sam; he's awful shy about his poetry, and today's an awful special day for you and Bilbo. Isn't customary, he knows, but he's looked up to you both for years, and wants to offer a commemorative give-back, as it were, you know? Only, he's worried it's not very good, and you'd think it silly.”

Frodo touched his heart, as if a dagger had just pierced it. “I'd never think something of Sam's as silly!” he cried, aghast. “Where ever did he get such a notion?!”

_Sam kisses the ground you walk,_ thought Merry, fighting so, _so_ hard not to smugly grin, _but can't look you in the eye these days, for all the dreams he's had about you._ He of course didn't say any of that at all, though his most youthful and impish streak cackled and goaded him to. “Don't know,” he said, and shrugged, “as I said, he's admired you for a while, and we all know he's terribly shy. Perhaps he thinks you're the ultimate judge of poetry?”

Frodo sat like a deflating balloon, now beginning to feel a bit bad for shaking his bum so much when Sam was troubled by such thoughts. “I'm so very far from that! Even if I were, I'd only offer my critique kindly and gently; there's never a need to be mean or cruel.” 

Merry 'hmm'd as if this were a new and novel idea, and nodded. “Well, you could go up and tell him, you know.” 

Frodo looked over in the general area he'd last spotted Sam. “Do you really think?” 

“You've a mouth and it works, haven't you?” asked Merry, really ready now to finish this whole mutual pining business. He couldn't stand to see a now of-age hobbit act so helplessly soppy. “Go!” to drive his point home, he kicked Frodo's foreleg with his foot. “Get on, then! Cake'll probably be cut soon, and you'll leave us all grumpy if you're late to it.” because, of course, as it was Bilbo _and_ Frodo's cake, it wouldn't be cut without both of them there. 

Frodo looked once back at Merry, then back to Sam's bench, before standing. “Yes, I suppose you're right. I'll go sort him out. Thank you.” 

“Just don't mention I sent you, eh? He was very adamant that nothing should be said to you.” 

“Well, you're a fine oathbreaker, aren't you?” asked Frodo, putting his hands on his hips and looking at Merry like a disappointed babysitter, before leaving him to stew in his broken promises, and made his way over to Sam.

“Fibber's more accurate.” Merry said to himself, taking out his pipe and lighting it. He spotted Pippin circling around back to him from near Sam's bench, holding two thumbs up and grinning. 

– 

Merry and Pippin tailed the two slightly befuddled lovebirds from a respectable distance. The Party was still in full swing – thus, obnoxiously loud – and further muffled their footsteps (which, as they were hobbits, were nearly silent anyway). 

Frodo and Sam had both seemed a bit confused as they met halfway across the field, expressed something or other that they wanted to speak with the other in private, then agreed to go down the hill some ways to the tree line. 

On their way, they met a few groups of hobbits that had wandered or tumbled down hill and decided to stay there – relatively inert from their drink – and also a few couples were found doing unsavory things that will not be here mentioned. 

Frodo and Sam wandered some way into the woods, to a little clearing, at the edge of which Merry and Pippin hid behind a bush and cupped their ears to hear. The former two started talking at once – both beginning with something like, “I thought,” - before apologizing abashedly and insisting the other go first. Frodo won the argument, prompting Sam to be the first to speak. “W-well,” he stuttered, wringing his hands, “t'is only I heard you had sommat for me as a gift, and it weren't going to fit in a box. T'is- t'is quieter here, and- so I thought easier to ask you about.” 

Frodo was scarlet – obviously frightened his secret had been discovered – but also confused. “Funny,” he said, after a moment, “I heard the same of you.” Sam looked startled. 

Admittedly, it was a flaw in Merry and Pippin's plan to discount that Sam and Frodo were – even in love – not so stupid as to be unable to put 2 + 2 together, correctly. They shared a grimace, realizing they could've planned this out a bit better. 

Sam tilted his head, blushing. “Ehm,” he managed, “w-well, not as you might say?” he fumbled with the hem of his weskit. “Not thinking it's sommat I done told someone about.” 

Frodo raised an eyebrow, obviously beginning to suspect something was amiss. “But- you do have something...?” 

Sam ducked his head, staring wide-eyed at the ground. He was silent for so moments, his jaw flapping uselessly as a wave of red flooded his cheeks. “I- well,” he stuttered, “t'is- true, you might say!” The eyes of Frodo's cousins widened in surprise. “Though I'm not sure all together what you'd think of me, after.” 

Frodo seemed to forget his suspicion, and – as expected, because this was Sam – melted to immediate sympathy, placing an encouraging hand on his forearm. “Really Sam, there's no need to be worried; I couldn't think less of you for the world.” 

Sam cautiously raised his eyes. “You mean that, for true?” 

The adoration in Frodo's voice was magnificent. “I do.” 

Sam dropped his gaze again, turning redder than a tomato, and took a very deep breath. “I'm awful sorry to go spoiling your birthday-” he sputtered, on the verge of tears, “butyouseeSirIfancyyouawfulmuch- you- you'rethefairestthingevertherewasinthewholeworld!” and he hid his face in his hands, starting to cry. 

Frodo stood dumbfounded. First, because Sam had spoken so quickly, his words were nigh unintelligible, and second, what could be discerned from his words was so earth-shattering, Frodo had difficulty believing it. 

But, for Sam, he was infinitely gentle and patient. “Easy,” he murmured, gently pulling Sam's hands from his face, “it's all right Sam; there's no need to cry. See? I'm not upset.” It couldn't be easily told if Sam's hiccup was assent, or just a hiccup. “In fact- I,” Frodo's eyes were shining like starlight, and even to themselves, Merry and Pippin had to admit he was beautiful when he looked at Sam, all lit up like a constellation, “if I understood what you've said, I _do_ have something for you, too.” 

Sam took a wheezing sniffle. “You do?” he squeaked. 

Frodo nodded, taking a tentative step closer, looking Sam all up and down with desperate excitement and hesitance both, “How would you feel if I said that I thought you were the cleverest, strongest, and sweetest hobbit I know, and that I like you very much?” 

Sam blinked, slowly wiping away his tears. “How much?” his words were barely audible to Merry and Pippin, even now with their straining and creeping out from around the bush. 

Frodo smiled, and his eyes were a pair of blue galaxies encased in in little spheres of crystal. “This much,” and he nuzzled Sam's head up from its duck, and kissed him. 

Merry and Pippin stopped dead in their creeping forward, staring slack-jawed at their success. 

Sam was utterly still for some moments, staring stupidly at Frodo's gentle expression and closed eyes, before the gears of his brain began to whir again (likely so fast they started to spark), and with disbelief, he touched Frodo's cheek, before – with immeasurable gentleness – pulled him closer. A breeze blew, then, shifting the clouds above, and a shaft of moonlight fell down upon them, turning their hair to twining rivers of silver, that swayed and danced in the wind. 

In their minds, Merry and Pippin were screaming ecstatically. 

A few moments later they parted, the tears on both their cheeks glistening like crystals. “Was that an all right present, Sam?” Frodo asked of him, just on the edge of hearing. 

Sam nodded, first dumbfounded, before he assented more vigorously. “C-could, could I ask for another?” 

Frodo smiled – his teeth flashing like pearls – and with immense delight, granted Sam's request. 

–

Merry and Pippin had stayed rooted behind their bush until after Frodo and Sam left the glade – the two of them hand in hand, delighted, as if in a dream. Luckily for the former, the latter were so enamored with each other for the following weeks, it took them a good while to realize 2 + 2 is in fact 4, and not 3.9. At which point, Merry and Pippin were cornered for a _lot_ of explaining. 

It all worked out in the end, though – more or less. After the explanation, they shared a joyous round at the Green Dragon, for love finally professed, Frodo's coming-of-age, and in honor of old Bilbo – but Merry and Pippin had to pay. 


End file.
